Three Things
by WaterGhost
Summary: For Santana Lopez, there are three things in high school that really matter. But things change.
1. Chapter 1

**This just kind of materialized one late night while I was putting off my Finance homework and wishing that Glee would get here sooner. I'm stretching the canon considering we've only had one line of dialogue tying our two cheerleaders romantically at all, but it's all in good fun. Rating is for sexual situations and adult language. Enjoy, and please review.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own, the fabulous Ryan Murphy does.**

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Three Things

by Sarah

For Santana Lopez, there were three things in high school really mattered.

One was popularity, because getting a slushie to the face daily was one of the most humiliating things a 16 year old could bear.

Second was the desire to get out of Lima. The dream that you were going to eventually do something interesting and worthwhile outside of your Podunk-ass little town. While she would never admit it, you actually studied diligently, and make good grades by most people's standards. Keeping that under wraps was an art in itself, though. Brains weren't cool, after all.

Third was sex. A teenager's hormones were constantly in overdrive, and the halls of William McKinley were a hot tub of sexual energy and built up tensions. You'd certainly come a long way in this department, from a painful, awkward first time with Mark Lowry in the 8th grade. Not a pleasant experience. It got better with practice, and the guys certainly improved with age. Some of them actually were decent lays. Her ex-boyfriend Puck certainly knew the female body and had the skills to take care of it, so she had no complaints. And others in the school would certainly suffice in a pinch.

But love was not one of these things. Just as sex did not equal dating, sex did not equal love. It was basic math, after all. Love was a thing that made all other aspects of life complicated, and complications meant distractions. She didn't want to sound unromantic, but love made people weak. Quinn and Rachel were the two prime examples of this, one was pregnant and the other a loser. But the uncertain part of love was that you couldn't pick the person you fell in love with. And that made it scary. So you steer clear of love. Just stick with sex.

You tell yourself this every time you sleep with your best friend.

They were the perfect odd pairing. Cold, calculating, pessimistic Santana and her warm, ditzy, optimistic best friend Brittany. You'd been attached at the hip ever since you were kids, and trusted one another with your lives. Brittany was the only one you cried in the presence of, probably the highest honor you could think of for a best friend. You laughed with Brittany more easily, understood her nuances. You were best friends, pure and simple.

And that one night after winning nationals freshman year with the Cheerios, you crossed a line. Lying in Brittany's bed, nestled between pink sheets, something changed between you. It was intangible, but noticeable, and when Brittany placed her soft lips against yours, you didn't pull away. As you took off your pajamas, and she followed suit, as she touched you and you touched her, and neither of you said no, something changed. You'd never been attracted to a girl before Brittany, but the attraction was so electric it couldn't be ignored. And so, you began having sex with your best friend.

Then sophomore year rolls around, and there are new complications in your life. Glee begins (which you oddly enjoy, but you'll never admit it), and baby gate with Quinn, and you suddenly find your ambitious self at the top of the popularity pyramid, and it's pretty damn good. And you still have Brittany, who sticks beside you despite the bitchiness, and the power plays, because she understands who you really are and after hours she can reduce you to a happy pile of goo.

You think about all of this as you stare at her from across the room at a party, hosted by one of the football players. There's a lot of people here, loud hip-hop music, cheap beer, strong liquor, the usual high school party accoutrement. You pretend to watch some ridiculous slasher-flick with some football players on the couch and slap their hands away when they occasionally try to cop a feel. You've only had a little bit yourself and aren't in a giving mood for some drunk horny teenage boys. So you watch her.

Brittany is talking to another Cheerio. She's wearing tight jeans and a white cami, and her hair is swept into an untidy ponytail. The other Cheerio says something funny and Brittany laughs. Your need for her is unpredictable and insistent, and it doesn't help when she wears outfits like this one. You're still staring when a drunk Puck gracelessly barrels into the two girls.

"Whoops!"

Puck steadies Brittany with one hand, blinks a few times, as if trying to clear the drunken haze from his sight. "Hey blondie," he smiles, and you doubt he even remembers who he is at the moment, much less his Glee teammate. "Looking hot."

Brittany smiles uneasily and takes a step back, but Puck loops one arm around her waist and pulls her close. Brittany laughs awkwardly and meets your eyes. You see what's going to happen next in slow motion, but you're too far away to do anything right now.

Puck kisses her, full on the mouth.

Something breaks inside you. You manage to find the back door without showing any emotion on your face, which is a combination of disgust, anger, and disappointment.

You're not really surprised when it's Brittany and not Puck that follows you out of the house. She calls out weakly for you to stop, but you don't. You fumble with the lock on the back gate and stalk into the dark night before the tears manage to leak past your angry façade. You rarely cry, but you let yourself shed a few tears before you wipe them away and turn to face your waiting friend.

"Go the fuck away," you practically growl at her.

"Santana, _he_ kissed _me_. And he was so drunk I don't think he even knew it was me he was kissing. Probably thought I was Quinn or something." She pulls the ponytail from the length of her blonde mane and points to it. "Blonde hair, yeah?"

You're standing so close to her that you can smell the clean cotton fresh aroma of her shampoo as her hair cascades down her back. There is that sudden twinge of desire in your belly. You try to ignore it.

"Can we at least talk?" Her voice is bordering on pleading now, which only intensifies the longing, and suddenly your anger disintegrates.

"Yeah, we can talk. Want to go for a ride?"

Her face breaks into a radiant smile and she nods emphatically.

"Have you had anything?" You ask as you hold your car keys in your hand. You're not stupid, you've only had one cup of some wine cooler but you'd rather not risk it with all there is to lose.

"Just a diet coke," she's telling the truth, because Brittany's a terrible liar and you can smell lies a mile away. You drop your keys in her hand.

The pure look of joy and relief on her face is worth the momentary rage of just a few moments ago. You grab her hand, savoring its warmth and how neatly it fits into your own before you make the walk back to the house. "Ill meet you at my car," you tell her at the back gate, and she nods before bounding around the side of the house towards the street. You watch the way her ass moves like a letch before making your way back into the house. The music throbs and drunken couples grind against each other sloppily, you weave through them with a task on your mind.

You find Puck on the couch alone, watching some soft-core Canadian porn on the TV, noticeably smashed. "Heyyyy San," he drawls drunkenly. "Wanna sit and watch?"

There are times when his antics are worthy of a smirk or a smile, but this is not one of those times. "Don't take this too personally," she tells him, "but you won't remember this tomorrow anyway." You reach back and with all your strength slap Noah Puckerman across his smug face. He shakes his head like a wet dog and looks up at you, confused.

"What the fuck was that for, Lopez?!"

"No reason," you say coolly, "just in a bad mood. Sleep it off." And with that you turn on your heel, collect yours and Brittany's purses and strut out the front door, duly satisfied.

Brittany already sits in your car, a mega-watt smile adorning her delicate features. You can't help but mirror her jubilance.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asks brightly.

"To the park," you say, and she starts the engine.

There's a small park that you and Brittany played at when you were kids. There are swings and a basic jungle gym, and you'd spend hours running around together. Now that they were older it was a good nostalgia point and a favorite wind-down spot after long nights of partying. Quinn would have joined on occasion, but since baby-gate blew up Quinn was a ghost. Not that you mind, you'd much rather have Brittany's company. You swing on the swings for a while, giggling and laughing like you're both 8 again, and you'd never admit it out loud, but this is one of your favorite places to be.

You talk about silly things, meaningless things, just to talk. You make fun of Rachel's outfit from last Wednesday; discuss the latest number in Glee, the routine for the Cheerios. You often wonder if you didn't have things in common like this, if you could talk this much, this easily. Somehow you think that it would always be this way, no matter how much time passed.

Eventually your butt gets tired and she gets chilly so you retreat into the car. The parking lot is dark and empty, this part of town doesn't get a whole lot of traffic this time of night.

"Ready to go home?" you ask, but make no effort to move the keys towards the ignition. All you're doing is watching those perfect pink lips, and she's looking down at yours. You lean forward, slowly, agonizingly, until she lunges at you.

You sear your mouth to hers in an instant, lips fitting perfectly with hers. The kiss quickly turns kinetic, and you move your mouth against hers frantically. Kissing her is so soft, but here there is a sense of urgency, a coil of energy within you that needs to be released. You bury one hand in her loose blonde hair and lean over the center console in attempt to feel her body against yours. She opens her mouth just slightly as an invitation, and you eagerly let your tongue dart out to explore the wet warm crevasse of her mouth.

This is better than being drunk. You've only smoked pot once, but this surpasses it by leaps and bounds. Brittany makes a noise – a moan – that is low and throaty and you swallow it up eagerly, earnestly. Neither of you will last long if she keeps making noises like that. Already you feel the ache deep down in your torso, slowly and surely working its way south.

Her hands move to your stomach, and you feel warm fingertips dance across the skin. You can't hold in the shudder, and feel her grin against your mouth at your reaction to her touch. It's hot in the car now. You pull away from her mouth (she whimpers in protest) and practically rip your shirt off, feel the kiss off cooler air on the bare skin. Brittany's eyes rake down your torso before you rid her of her cami with the same vigor.

Her bra is white and she is beautiful and your breath catches, then speeds. You touch her soft skin, shoulders, stomach, the valley between her breasts. Her eyes close briefly, then snap open to catch yours.

"Backseat?" you ask, voice low and thick.

In a flash Brittany has slid between the seats and is pulling you with her. You're immensely glad that your dad had bought you a sedan instead of that convertible that you wanted so badly. Doing this in a convertible would be really uncomfortable. Shoes are the next to go, then jeans, tossed haphazardly in the direction of the front seat to get them out of the way. You position yourself on top of her; savor the contact between your stomachs, thighs touching thighs. Her legs quiver in anticipation, her breathing is loud and ragged. You do these things to each other, after all.

You smile and look down at your best friend reverently, before saying the one thing you do before you have sex.

"This doesn't mean anything, okay?"

Her bright lovely eyes, now half shut with arousal, look at you confused for a moment before her head nods. "Sure, San. Yeah. Whatever you say."

Her answer is not exactly reassuring, because she's aching for your touch and will appease you with the right answer for the time being as long as you keep moving south. And you so desperately want to make her scream your name so you too willingly accept it.

You lean down and lay your body across hers, reach around and unclip her bra with the eased practice of someone who has done this before. You pull it off slowly, then toss it away and eagerly provide each of her breasts with the attention they deserve. So soft, and warm. Brittany lets out several cries and gasps at the contact. You kiss up and down her torso; suckle her neck and shoulder, only leaving marks that can be covered by the Cheerio uniform. You feel her reach upon and unsnap your bra at some point, so you shrug it off and let your breasts touch hers.

This time you gasp. Your head swims. But you're on top right now, and that means that you're in charge. You move down the length of her body slowly, let her feel your hot breath on her flushed skin. She moans, deeply.

You tease until she begs, and when she begs you're only too happy to oblige her. You position yourself between those long lovely dancer's legs, the muscles twitch and jump as you kiss the insides of her thighs. You pull down the underwear and smell her arousal. It's like molten gold, it's intoxicating.

"Fuh---fuck," rips from her throat as you ease your fingers into the soft, wet warmth and fasten your lips around her sensitive bud. You make quick work of it, she's been so patient so far, and this is the best part anyways.

With one final lick, you bring your head up and keep moving, curling your fingers insistently inside her. He eyes snap open and meet yours, and then she's breaking, coming apart, thrusting wildly against your hand in total abandon and complete pleasure. You've seen other people come, but no one as beautifully or as tenderly as she does.

You lay on top of her as she comes down, feel her heaving chest as she breathes gratefully.

"God," is all she can say. "God."

"Santana will do just fine," you joke, wanting to keep the mood light, because in the afterglow you often fear one of you is going to do something stupid, like use the 'l' word. But you don't, and she just chuckles. After a few moments she flips the tables, straddling you, a feral look on her face.

She doesn't tease you when she removes your underwear, sees the moisture already accumulated there. "You're soaking," she says. So she is merciful. And you climax so magnificently under her touch, legs locked around her head and her warm mouth on the most intimate part of you.

Hours pass before you are both sated. The windows are completely fogged up except for the thin strip of night at the top that allows air into the car. You rest your full weight on top of her, lay your head on her chest as she lazily works her fingers through your hair.

"You need to wear your hair down more often," she murmurs.

"Only for you, babe," you reply.

There are things you won't say right now, like how you were just looking for a reason to have sex with her tonight without drawing any attention. The party had been her idea (and of course you were expected to show) but you didn't trust yourself around her when you had any amount of alcohol in your system, and losing self-control in the middle of a crowded party would not be a good thing. You also won't say how deeply you actually feel for your best friend. You never expected ever be attracted to a girl, but denying impulses was one thing that Santana Lopez was not good at.

There's no denying it at this point, you haven't had sex with anyone else in six months and you don't want to. That word, the one you don't feel? Yeah, you're feeling it for your best friend. Your female best friend. There are those complications you were worried about, but no matter how much you want to, you can't get rid of the feeling.

But for now these things go unsaid. One day the sex won't be enough, one day Brittany or she will want to push for something more, and then they'll have to deal with the fallout. But for now, you are together, happy, and no one knows. You both dress and drive back to Brittany's house and settle into her pink-sheeted bed. She wraps her arms around you from behind protectively and you don't want to be anywhere else.

You think that someday you're going to add a fourth thing to that list of things that matter.

Or narrow it down to one. Who knows?


	2. Chapter 2

Part two. Leave any love or suggestions you might have. I live on feedback.

Thanks, Sarah

Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit.

Three Things, Part Two

It's early. Too early. The first day back from winter break and Sue has called an emergency early-morning meeting an hour before school starts. So you're at McKinley at 7:30 instead of 8:30, and you're pretty pissed about it because you're probably the worst morning person ever. Brittany sits next to you with her head resting on your shoulder, because she's just as tired as you are. You would know, as you were over at her place quite late last night trying to catch up on late Spanish homework.

_It's late, but you have Spanish homework to do. Mr. Schue was giving you extra time to complete it due to double duty with Glee and Cheerios, but his good graces had a limit. So you and Brittany are attempting finish it off before you go back to school tomorrow. Verb conjugations. You speak fluent Spanish, but Brittany needs help, and you can't say no to Brittany. You restrain yourself for quite a while before you find yourself tangling your fingers in her long blonde tresses. At first she ignores you, nobly pressing forward with her verb conjugations._

"_Poder, to be able to. Yo puedo. Tu puedes. El puede. Ella puede. Nosotros podemos. Ustedes pueden."_

_You chuckle lightly to yourself. She shoots you a stern look._

"_Comer, to eat."_

_Your dirty mind hops to the most sexual connotation of this particular verb and you become a little bolder in your actions, pressing your side against hers and inching your face closer to her neck._

"_Yo como."_

_With one hand you sweep the hair from her neck._

"_Tu comes."_

_You blow gently on the newly revealed area of bare skin. She shudders, then continues._

"_El come. Ella come."_

_You press the lightest of kisses to the flushed skin. Her voice has visibly changed, dropping to a much lower register than before._

"_Nosotros comemos…"_

_You don't even wait for the ustedes conjugation and latch onto her ear, earning a long, low moan from your friend. You suckle lightly and swirl the small loop earring in your mouth, tasting its metallic tang, before going for the gusto and rolling her over for access to her mouth._

_She reaches up, seizes you by the back of the neck and pulls you down before you can lean, and claims your mouth in a heated kiss. Your rule about not fooling around when there is work to be done seems to have flown out the window, but you are now tongue-kissing your best friend in her room with your hand slipping under the bottom of her shirt, and move to remove it…_

"Okay ladies welcome back from winter break," Sue's electronically amplified voice sounds over her trademark bullhorn and she struts into the gym and breaks your delightful daydream. "Welcome back to the suck. You all look like you've put on enough weight to shop at Lane Bryant so we're going to have to whip you back into fighting shape."

There's a short pause while Sue soaks up the perceived shame that floats off the Cheerios as they exchange looks.

"And I don't have time to tell you that you're all beautiful and special, unique flowers so go get on your running clothes and be on the track in less than 5 minutes. We're going for a little jog."

You stifle a groan, even though you really want to let it out. But you're gunning for head cheerleader and a head cheerleader obeys her coach. Quinn certainly did, which frightening efficiency, which is why she had the job in the first place. Secretly you think Sue smelled a rebellious attitude about you that she didn't from Quinn, which is why she was picked over you. But circumstances change, and now you have an opportunity that you can't pass up. So you spring off the bleachers and into the locker room to change, but manage to sneak a tiny peak at a momentarily pant-less Brittany before tying your sneakers and rushing outside into the cold Ohio air.

You form the girls into ranks quickly (they seem to be listening to you pretty well, since Quinn was ousted from their ranks) and Sue approaches driving her go-kart, warmly dressed and holding a cup of something hot. You wrinkle your nose to keep from snarling, because you're admittedly terrified of her.

"Now ladies," she begins, then takes a sip of her beverage, "stop shivering like little babies or I'll make you run double distance. We're going to have a run leader, and if you do not keep pace with your run leader then you _will _run double distance. Understood?"

"Yes, Coach Sylvester," the Cheerios respond in unison.

"Good. Brittany, front and center."

You see your friend hop forward with amazing athleticism. "Yes, Coach."

Sue looks over Brittany for a few moments, pondering. "You've got long legs. Set a pace, make them work for it."

"Yes Coach."

"2 miles. How many laps is that?"

"Uh…." You can't see Brittany's face but you can hear the panic in her voice.

"8!" You practically yell before she has a chance to respond. Coach, thankfully, doesn't think much of your intrusion. Brittany looks back at you and smiles gratefully.

"Good to see that someone knows math on this squad, Lopez. Now move it, everyone!"

It isn't until lunch that you find yourself in a slightly better mood as you load your tray with mashed potatoes and chicken fingers. Coach isn't here to berate you and if she's going to continue to work you like this then you're going to need carbs to keep any energy in your body. You take your tray and look around for Brittany before spotting her at a table with Puck and Quinn.

"These morning workouts are going to kill us," you say as you set your tray down and slide in close to your best friend. You watch Quinn's reaction anytime you mention the Cheerios, even now she flinches, which you take a small measure of satisfaction from.

"I thought it was kind of fun," Brittany replies. She's making some sort of sculpture out of her potatoes with the plastic silverware.

"If you didn't run so damn fast it might've been," you retort with a bit of sting in your voice. With anyone else it would be considered a rude thing to say, but Brittany just beams a smile at you and goes back to her potato art, because she knows that you don't mean it.

"Have you started the new routine yet?" Quinn pipes in, sounding a little bit sad.

You can't help the smugness that's in your voice, even if it makes you a bitch. "No, not yet. But I'm supposed to go by Coach Sylvester's office after Glee practice and look over what she has so far."

"Oh," her voice is so…defeated. You feel the tiniest bit sorry for her, but push it away because she wouldn't be in this position in the first place if she had just made Puck wear the damn condom. You dive into your pile of mashed potatoes with gusto, because you still have history and geometry to suffer through before Glee practice.

"Puck," you hear Quinn say. "Close your fucking mouth when you chew." He narrows his eyes at his new girlfriend but obeys. You're mildly impressed.

"I hear Finn and Rachel are dating," Brittany pipes in around a mouth full of potatoes. A dark look passes over Quinn's features. It's quick, but you notice it nonetheless. As much as man hands annoys you, the fact that she gets to Quinn so much is endlessly amusing.

"I doubt that," Puck responds, making sure to talk food-free this time. "Finn's too concerned with his rep to make it official."

"Why? He's a whiny virgin, that's not much of a rep." It's a bitch thing to say, sure, but that doesn't stop you from saying it.

Once again you gage Quinn's reaction, but her face is fascinatingly blank. You smirk and try to sneak one of Brittany's chicken fingers off her tray, only to have her squeal and slap your hand away. Quinn peers over your shoulder, and then her face has a smirk.

"Well I have to say, being pregnant, I can at least eat what I want. You better hide those carbs if you don't wanna do office crunches after school today."

Your head whips around only to see Sue strolling in to the cafeteria, cell phone attached to her ear and an on-the-warpath look on her face.

"Shit!"

You and Brittany wolf down the remainder of the mashed potatoes like it's your last meal.

"Come on," you tell Brittany, mouth still full, and drag her from the table.

"Bye Puck, bye Quinn!" Brittany calls brightly over her shoulder. You roll your eyes. If you didn't like Brittany so much you'd be much more annoyed.

But you can't avoid Sue for forever, and just days later you find yourself side by side with Brittany on the end of a professional ass-chewing.

"You two should be wetting yourselves with shame." Sue's on the elliptical while she's tearing you a new one, always the queen of multitasking, amongst other things. "Glee club won sectionals and you did nothing to stop it."

She gets off the elliptical and walks until she's behind you. "If you were samurai, and my letter opener were sharp enough, I would command you to commit seppuku. In Japanese this means ritual belly slitting."

"We were seduced by the glitz and glamour of showbiz," offers Brittany timidly.

Sue ignores the statement. "Let me drop some knowledge on you. Ever since Quinn Fabray got knocked up I've been in the market for a new head cheerleader." You can feel Brittany looking to you for answers, but you keep your head down. Just weather the storm, you want to tell her.

"If you want the job, and back in my good graces, you're going to have to _turn around_."

It's a command, and the two of you obey in unison. "And listen up," she adds.

She's orders you to go after Finn to make Rachel jealous, because Rachel wants Finn so much that if she lost him she would quit Glee in anguish. When she dismisses the two of you, you scurry into the girl's bathroom for a pow wow.

"What are we going to do? I don't want to ruin Glee."

Truth to tell, you were starting to have mixed feelings about Operation Destroy Schuester too. You weren't lying when you said that Glee was the best part of your day, ever since you were a kid some of the happiest times were singing to Disney songs along with Brittany. But you liked being a Cheerio more. You liked the power, and you liked the respect it brought you. While you were a formidable force by yourself, but with the Cheerios uniform on you were practically unstoppable.

Brittany looks at you with searching eyes.

"San, what are going to do?" she repeats.

"We do what she says," you say evenly. "Rachel wouldn't quit Glee just because of Finn, they go through ups and downs all the time. We take him to dinner, and we do our thing."

Brittany dons her usual confused face. "Why both of us?"

You crinkle your face in disgust. "Because Finn's dumb and annoying and if you're not there to talk to me I might, like, hit him in the face or something."

She smiles brightly. "You like talking to me?"

You can't help but smile back. "Duh."

She giggles again, and you feel your pulse quicken because the look that covers her face now is the "I want to kiss you" look. You don't want to start something in school, but she looks so damn cute, so you kiss her cheek softly to keep her smiling.

"Your place after Glee?" You ask with just a hint of seduction in your voice.

"Definitely."


End file.
